Eighty-five degrees

This is a winter like no other in my experience. Despite dipping into the single digits a few times, a couple of respectable snowstorms and the ice we saw last week, there’s been nothing harsh or intolerable about it.

And today, less than 72 hours into March, the high on The Mountain hit 85°F. I could get used to this.

Beyond that, there’s not much to report today. Just three things, actually.

We relaxed the day away at Deb’s cousin’s place, chatting and reminiscing and, for the most part, doing absolutely nothing of any consequence.

While we were there I got out the bucket, brush and soap I’d used on the Ranger the other day and gave Mercy the bath she deserved. No wax, no tire dressing or anything like that, just a good scrubbing — and it did take some serious elbow grease to remove splattered mud from the sides of our trusty Wrangler’s soft top.

Some of that embedded mud came from the Kintla Lake Road.

In the northwest corner of Montana.

Six months ago.

The last news comes from the first part of our Thursday. We’d just turned onto the dirt road that leads up The Mountain when, about halfway into the grade, a whitetail doe emerged from the woods. A moment later another appeared. I shut the engine off and we watched.

Thus began a ten-minute staredown. The deer weren’t the least bit spooked.

Eventually we resumed our climb, and the does walked nonchalantly into the brush on the left side of the road. Before we got to the spot where they’d disappeared, three more whitetail came out of the woods and crossed in front of us. Thirty yards farther up, another two deer dashed across the road.

And that was our day.

Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.

#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath

#LetsGoBrandon